


How about tea?

by BoredomIsDeadly



Series: Dear Despair [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Gen, Kiran is a fucking weirdo, silent kiran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 10:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredomIsDeadly/pseuds/BoredomIsDeadly
Summary: It was as if fell dragon Grima had been summoned to an unsolvable puzzle Kiran presented.





	How about tea?

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to type something
> 
> proofread and edited now waha

The first thing Grima does upon returning to the castle is to make a beeline for his own room. He isn’t silent about it either, no. Stomping through the halls laid with red carpet with a scowl on his face, he just grumbles and mutters irritation under his breath. Anyone in the way jumped right out of his path. A castle servant, some other insignificant heroes, they all scooted up against the wall. It was amusing, really, to watch them react in such a manner.

It’s very fitting, he decides, that worms should behave as worms.

By now, word has spread. Everyone knows the vessel he occupies is another Robin. Yet internally, he is still Grima, thank you very much. 

Grima throws open the door of his private room and then slams it behind him shut. It must have rattled the nearby walls, and thus their occupants if not for the fact that most of the other summoned heroes are up and about doing their mortal activities.

Whatever.

Grima thinks back to the first time he laid eyes upon the Summoner. Being dragged out to this realm hadn’t been the most pleasant of experiences, but he welcomed it all the same. Another world to lay waste to! It’s a ripe world for the picking! Why then, would he ever take up the open offer to return to his realm of his own will and miss out this opportunity? However, instead of finding himself in a state of rapture by such a though, he finds himself thinking back to the first meeting between him and them.

The emotion that graced the Summoner’s face upon seeing him was… Awe. A puzzling type of awe.

The kind of awe not found in his worshipers, or the worms struggling beneath his feet as he chokes the life out of them. It’s the kind of awe that was mixed in equal parts elation and disbelief. For the most part of the past few days, that’s what exactly the mood of the Summoner had been. The insignificant one would always have their palm wide open and inviting, regardless of their approach or his attitude. Grima had detected a hint of fear as well, but that was a drop in the ocean as compared to the overwhelmingly odd sense of dissonance carried in the weight of their actions.

For the life of Grima, he cannot comprehend why the Summoner continues to pester him at every given moment. So curious and carefree, like a hapless animal who doesn’t know any better. This in contrast with almost every other being here who views him as a dangerous beast, one arm on their weapon ready to strike.

The worst of this was that the amount of Falchions gathered into this one place is no laughing matter. So he wisely behaves. Oh, how he hates this game of pretend.

“When will they pester me again…?” He muses to an audience of stone walls and furniture.

Grima kicks off his boots and dumps his coat to the floor, dropping his own body and face into the soft bed and the pillow.

For now, Grima just wants silence. Being in this place is… tolerable. Soon he would rule supreme over this domain, and that day cannot come soon enough.

Grima settles well into an hour before he is interrupted by a curt knocking on the door. He ignores it, but the knocks continue. 3 short bursts between long and patient intervals. It does not relent.

He sighs and opens it, to find the Summoner before him. More than them, Grima notices the large tea tray that’s filled with petite looking cakes, cookies and two cups of hot tea. Grima eyes the tray, and back to the summoner.

“This, is your idea of tribute?”

The Summoner nods and nonchalantly strolls in to leave the items on the table. They hover over one of the seat, expectantly waiting for Grima to take the other.

“Ridiculous.” Grima growls. “You stand before the fell dragon, Grima, so what is the meaning of this? Do you long for death so much you’d march right into it's embrace, mortal?”

The air in the room shifts as Grima gathers his power. It’s the sickening wave of rot and decay that buckles the unsuspecting Summoner’s legs.

“I shall grant it, then!”

A hand is suddenly shoved into his vision, stopping him. There’s a disappointed sigh, and a defiant scowl. Silent as always, the Summoner only moves to drag the other seat further and looks at Grima again, expectantly eager for him to take a seat, frown and all.

What a bizarre idea of diplomacy. Grima knows for a fact firsthand what an actual diplomacy was like between worms. If not for their prowess over strategy in the battlefield, Grima would be sure this worm before him was the daftest one alive.

“Fine.” He takes a seat. The mortal skips over to the other side and takes theirs, almost wasting no time swiping one of the cookies into their mouth. Though he has no need of nourishment himself, Grima follows and takes one cookie into his mouth. The crispness of sweet fresh bake gives way quickly to the flowing warmth of chocolate which melts on contact. After the cookie was finished, they moved on to the cake with sips of tea in between, the whole time Grima following what the Summoner had taken.

They quietly snack away without a single word exchanged. Even the tea was drank in a manner that all in all, no onlookers would dare to call this tea time.

It’s almost to the last sip that Grima speaks again.

“I cannot for the life of me understand the actions you do. Do you seek death, or do you derive some manner of twisted pleasure in spending time alone with me?”

The Summoner meets his gaze beneath their hood, tea resting between their fingers.

“You do not speak nor cower. You regard me as a God, yet not.”

The Summoner sips.

The lack of words was infuriating. Grima leans back and crosses his arms, head tilting backwards. “I shall humor you. Tell me, what is it do you desire? Power?”

They shake their head.

“Hmph. Yet your kind would worship, murder, sacrifice, conduct vile rituals and die for such a thing. I may devour, ruin, violate but the foulest of all are still you worms.”

The summoner’s lips draws thin. No denial.

“Oh, struggle! Struggle! Hah, what a sight each rite was! Imagine the lengths some would go just to wish for the end of the world!” Grima laughs. “So, death, then, Summoner? Speak!!”

At that, they crossed their arms and frowned. Another shake of the head. And the same silence. It’s a complete rejection of what he has laid on the table. Is this some sort of prank at a fell dragon’s expense?

“I must be far. Neither power nor destruction. Ah, the positive type, then.” Grima stands up, causing the chair to drag across the floor with an annoying noise. He would have stomped the furniture to oblivion right then and there.

The thought of devouring this one...

“Forget it. My appetite’s been ruined. Leave.”

Grima turns his back towards this fang-less whelp and waits. Frustration mounts within him, simmering just below a fine line. It’s about to reach a fever peak. Perhaps not now, but soon. There are matters to deal with before Aksr is to crumble into ruin and decay. For now, he just has to bide his time.

He’s well into his thoughts until a hand suddenly grabs his, smacking him out of his mind. Grima clicks his tongue as he spun around. But all that greeted him was the Summoner gingerly placing his hand in between theirs. That expectant look returned again, whispering something into his emotions.

He pauses.

The tea, the snacks, the presence. Them, against everyone else.

He glares daggers into the Summoner as realization sinks in. 

“What a fool. Companionship,” Grima says. “You desire companionship.”

The Summoner beams and nods their head. His hand is squeezed, then shaken upwards and downwards a couple of times. They take a few steps backwards, with bounces in their step. They glower. Before Grima realizes it, the mortal has taken the tray and left his room, but not without waving goodbye.

They would return again.

And Grima doesn't feel like returning yet.

“What a fool.”

**Author's Note:**

> im hungry


End file.
